


"Good Afternoon, Sir"

by Speranza



Category: due South
Genre: Crack, Flash Fic, Humor, M/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-07-31
Updated: 2003-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-09 19:45:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Speranza/pseuds/Speranza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Ooooh, are you a bad Mountie? Are you a bad, bad Mountie?"</i>
</p><p>"I've—tried to be a good Mountie. Granted, my behavior has been less than optimal upon occasion. "</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Good Afternoon, Sir"

**Author's Note:**

>   For the Naive Fraser challenge on DS_Flashfiction; thanks to Te and cmshaw and Mia for audiencing & beta.

_"Is this the Canadian Consulate?_

"Good afternoon, sir—yes, it is. How may I help you?" 

_"Are you a Mountie?"_

"Yes, indeed. I am a proud member of the Royal Canadian Mounted—" 

_"Are you wearing the red uniform? I love the red uniform..."_

"It is an attractive garment, I grant you. Few people, however, are familiar with the uniform's rather complicated and elaborate symbolism..." 

_"You look so hot in it...."_

"Well confidentially, sir, it is uncomfortably warm during the summer months." 

_"Why don't you...just take it off, then?"_

"I'm afraid Inspector Thatcher insists upon it. And any deviation from her will tends to result in our being disciplined—well, really rather severely." 

_"Ooooh, are you a bad Mountie? Are you a bad, bad Mountie?"_

"I've—tried to be a good Mountie. Granted, my behavior has been less than optimal upon occasion. But I've always attempted to perform my duties with distinction—" 

_"And you wear boots, right? Leather... Boots...?"_

"Brown leather boots, yes. Well, they're riding boots, actually." 

_"Guhhhhhh...."_

"Very comfortable. Quite sturdy. Um. I assume you actually do have a question, sir?" 

_"You're a big boy, aren't you. Yes, you are. I know you are."_

"Not particularly, no. I'm five eleven, which is only slightly about the male average. Why do you—" 

_"Uhhh....Uhhh....Who's your daddy?!"_

"My father was Sergeant Robert Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. You might have heard of his many exploits across the Yukon and the Northwest Territories. His name was a legend up north; it was said he could track a ghost across sheer ice. Unfortunately, he was murdered several years ago in a story that takes precisely two hours to tell, but suffice it to say that I first came to Chicago on the trail of his killers, and here I have remained. Was that your question?" 

_"You're driving me crazy. Your voice drives me crazy. You know what I want?"_

"No, I'm sorry, sir; I'm afraid I haven't the faintest." 

_"I'm completely naked, lying on my bed, rubbing oil all over my body..."_

"Oh really?" Fraser asked with interest. "What kind of oil?" 

_"My god I'm—I think I'm—oh, fffffuckkkk— I'm coming—I'm —"_

"Well, I'm afraid we're only open till six, sir. You'd better hurry," Fraser said, and disconnected the line.   


End file.
